As for Keller, his shirt was in ribbons and dyed with the stains of blood from the wound that had broken out again in the battle.  The hair on the left side of his head was clotted with dried blood, and his cheeks were covered with it.  Both eyes were blacked, and hands and face were scratched badly.  But his mien was as jaunty, his smile as gallant, as if he had come at the head of a conquering army.

“Good evenin’, Miss Sanderson,” he bowed ironically.

She looked at him, and turned away without answering.  She heard Healy curse softly and knew why.  This man contrived somehow to rob him of his triumph.

“You are none of you hurt, Brill?” the girl asked in a low voice.

“No.  He fought like a wild cat, but we took him by surprise.  He had only his bare fists.”

“How about him?  Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know—­or care,” the man answered sullenly.

“But he must be looked to.”

“I don’t know why.  It ain’t my fault we had to beat him up.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault, Brill,” she answered gently.  “But any one can see he has lost a lot of blood, and his wounds are full of dust.  They must be washed.  I want him brought into the house.  Aunt Becky and I will look after him.”

“No need of that.  Slim will fix him up.”

She shook her head.  “No, Brill.”

His eyes gave way first, but his surrender came with a bad grace.

“All right, Phyl.  But he’s going to be covered by a gun all the time.  I’m not taking chances on him.”

“Then have him taken into my den.  I’ll wake Aunt Becky and we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

When Phyllis arrived with Aunt Becky she found the nester sitting on the lounge, Healy opposite him with a revolver close to his hand.  The prisoner’s arms had been freed.  His sardonic smile still twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve ce’tainly begun your practice on a disreputable patient, Doctor Sanderson.  I haven’t had time to comb my hair since that little seance with your friends.  We sure did have a sociable time.  They’re all good mixers.”  He looked into the long glass opposite, laughed at sight of his swollen face, then rattled into a misquotation of some verses he remembered: 

    “There’s many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
    For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.”

“Put the water and things down on that table, Becky,” her mistress told her, ignoring the man’s blithe folly.

“I’m giving you lots of chances to do the Good Samaritan act,” he continued.  “Honest, I hate to be so much trouble.  You’ll have to blame Mr. Healy.  He’s the responsible party for these little accidents of mine.”

“I’m going to be responsible for one more,” the stockman told him darkly.

“I understand your intentions are good, but I’ve noticed that sometimes expectation outruns performance,” his prisoner came back promptly.